Peas in a Pod
by JackSparrowsBooty
Summary: A reimagining of the Pirates franchise. This story takes place during the first movie...Jack and Elizabeth are marooned, but something very different from the film occurs. What if there were no 'white sails on the horizon' as she thought? All characters expected to take part in the story, but the primary focus is on Jack/Elizabeth.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I originally posted this in 2004, but it quickly lost steam after I watched the PotC sequels. I never throw anything away, though, with the hope that eventually (as in now) I get back around to the fic and edit it and bring it to my liking! So here goes! There are several chapters and a full detailed outline, I just have to proofread the heck out of them, and then they will post. Expect the next few updates to be about weekly.

By the way, this takes place during the first film, and involves as many canon characters (and possibly one or two OCs) as I can stuff into the story. Jack and Elizabeth are STILL on that island, but that is where my fic ventures off on its own.

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"Must've been terrible for you to be trapped here, Jack. Must've been terrible—well, it bloody is now!" Jack Sparrow spat behind himself to Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter as he stormed hastily through the sand to further distance himself from the girl and the flaming palm trees. Blasted girl burnt everything! They'd surely die on the island now. Maybe he should've taken the opportunity to shoot the girl when her back was turned. It'd have been a more graceful death than starvation.

He paused in his stride, narrowing his eyes into the scorching Caribbean sun out at the horizon, over the expanse of water and nearly flawless sky, speckled with fleecy clouds here and there. If it hadn't have been such a cursed place, he could almost call the scene before him enchanting, but when he swiveled back to the massive plume of smoke billowing into the air behind him and could make out Elizabeth's tiny figure pacing on the shoreline, he was reminded of the rum that had been treacherously and ruthlessly wasted. How was he to know that the slight, fair thing contained such visceral brutality that she should put a trove of liquor to flame instead of using it to her disposal?

Jack's mouth curved downward into a scowl and he continued stomping through the hot granules that burned the soles of his bare feet. He had been so bleeding close to having the prized _Black Pearl_ back in his possession, but Bootstrap's eunuch son had deliberately made a mess of things. The boy was ambitious and eager, certainly the spawn of his father – fruit of the loins so to speak, but a foolish one at that. Jack could nearly say that he was fond of Turner because of how alike he and William Turner senior were…almost.

Because of Will's rash actions, Jack was forced to watch Barbossa sail away on his ship once again, and forced to be stranded on the godforsaken spit of land with, of all people, Elizabeth _bloody_ Swann.

_Ah, Miss Swann_._ She sure is a headstrong little spitfire,_ Jack thought, grinning to himself. She definitely was far too impetuous to exercise suitable decorum, but he liked that about the lass. In a curious way, she reminded him much of himself, despite her tender upbringing and fair sex. No, if Jack had to choose amongst the crew he'd quitted not long ago, he'd prefer the girl for her winning personality and the challenge she presented, but not just for those reasons, of course. He enjoyed her forced company for motives that were too lewd to be proper. _Pirate — _he reminded himself. _Propriety has no place in piracy._

Jack discovered a particularly comfortable spot beneath an unscathed palm tree and sat in its shade, sighing as he lay against the trunk, hoping against reason that the raging inferno yonder would preserve at least a fraction of the tiny isle so that survival was at least somewhat feasible.

Elizabeth paced across the seashore until the sun had begun to sink in the sky, casting vivid pinks and oranges into the clouds. The signal fire behind her had been reduced to mildly smoldering embers. The plan borne of impulsivity and scorching devastation had claimed about a quarter of the island's flora, but she'd figured it meant little since the Royal Navy had without a doubt commenced their search and was going to rescue her, in any given moment.

However, the darkness stole into the sky and in its wake blotted out the sun's brilliance, revealing a creeping full moon surrounded by stars, which slowly illuminated their splendor; all beautiful in their own natural magnificence, and yet —no ship, no white sails. Her stomach turned over not for the first time that day since Jack had stormed off. Was she doomed to be here forever? What if the plan that she had deemed as genius hadn't worked? What would Jack do to her if he found out that his rum had been wasted?

She huffed, wringing her hands in nervous anticipation. She hadn't seen anything of the captain since his hasty departure, just his footprints in the white sand. Had he left? Had he discovered a way off of the island and escaped and left her to rot out of spite? He_ was_ after all a pirate. Such actions would not be a surprise from one of that lifestyle. Pirates were, at least according to figures of authority and authors of the adventure novels she had pored over and treasured as a girl of yesteryear, heartless, mindless creatures that harbored no compassion for humanity.

Even the part of her brain that registered the thought didn't believe it. Jack would never abandon her, despite what had transpired the last few days since their first encounter. He'd rescued her from drowning and sailed with Will to save her from Barbossa and the undead crew. No, he was unlike any pirate she'd ever read or heard about. An odd paradox between gentlemanly honor and disobedience – the ultimate rebel – one that refused to adhere to pirate code or society's moral compass. He was a pirate _and_ a good man.

She hated to admit it, but she longed for the pirate captain's blasted company. The quiet solitude was enough to drive her to madness and – God help her – she inevitably came to the conclusion that she needed Jack Sparrow's presence. She needed desperately to hear the pirate's rough voice. She decided to set off and find him.

Elizabeth followed his tread marks to the eastern side of the island and every so often let her gaze sweep over the sea as if to find those Royal Navy colors flapping in the wind perched above the mainmast of the _Dauntless_. She tapped her fingers together in frustration at the lonesome, rolling waves, and then peered into the mass of palm trees further into the island. She spotted the captain immediately, a spectacle of a man in his unique dress and mannerisms; he was sitting cross-legged in front of a small fire, his hand poised above the flames. The previous determination and courage left her considerably and she waited, anxious for Jack's reaction to her presence, slowing her purposeful stroll to a near standstill. She crept closer to him, then stopped abruptly when his head turned sharply and he peered over at her with an air heavy with suspicion. In spite of the tension his demeanor presented, his eyes were subdued, a visage she thought she'd never witness upon Jack Sparrow's animated face.

"Did you finally find leave from your post, Miss Swann? Anything worth noting on the horizon? White sails and such?" came the voice, the earnest words enveloped in condescending suggestion.

She sniffed haughtily, crossing her arms and glaring at the side of his head after he resumed his ministrations.

"Regrettably, no."

A few heartbeats passed in silence, save for the hushed ebb and flow of the tide and the occasional shriek of gulls flying in the distance.

"You may come over 'ere, Miss Swann. I don't bite." His voice was just as grave as his eyes had been. Elizabeth's nerves quieted somewhat, although she did not care for the low weariness of his tone and the quiet behavior – she likened it to Jack, the infernally sly con artist, always concocting a scheme to confound and conquer whomever he considered to be in the way of what he desired, accepting defeat.

"Thank you," she mumbled, closed the distance between them, pulled her skirt up and took a seat directly across the fire from him. One side of his wildly expressive mouth darted upward into a half-smile and the hand held above the flames moved as he turned a makeshift spit. The fire crackled merrily and she was fleetingly enamored with the efficiency the man revealed when put to the challenge of surviving amidst the overwhelming odds.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, tucking a honey-colored strand of hair behind her ear.

"Caught meself a fish," he announced, plucking the crude stick away from the fire and revealing the indiscernible hunk of singed meat to her. "Little buggers all over the place over there a-ways." A bejeweled hand motioned toward the shallows somewhere of to the left of him with a manner not unlike pretentious indifference. She stared at the meat and felt her middle tighten hungrily, but noticed with disdain that what he had caught could hardly pass as a meal for _one, _no less two ravenous individuals who had not had a decent bite to eat for quite some time.

"There is enough for both of us?" she asked, the suddenness of her appetite for whatever he had there edging her voice.

His eyebrows raised dramatically, the half-grin resurfacing. "Oh, I apologize, milady. If I had known you were hungry, I'd have caught more for the two of us."

She nodded, her eyes a-lit with hostility, lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you simply expecting me to starve?"

The arrogant, sidelong grin that remained halfway emerged finally opened into a boisterous, toothy smile, gold and all. "Oh, not to worry, young missy. I never forgot 'bout you," he replied, passing her a large, flat palm leaf with blackened lumps on top of it. He recognized the hesitance as she studied the remains of whatever it had been before his demolishing of the poor creature. "I fear I may have overcooked it a bit."

Elizabeth tried to remain stoic, but couldn't help the good-natured chuckle and took the leaf, casting him an apologetic smile. "You're very kind to do this, Captain. Thank you."

He studied her inquisitively, and then shook his head once, dismissive. "I may be the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish Main, love, but I have a touch of honesty left inside my weasely black heart." He allowed his piercing gaze to rake over her until she felt unnerved, and then he righted himself, choosing to direct the next self-important comment to her brazen behavior. "At least when compared to some." The gilt in his smirk glinted off of the firelight. She reddened, her mind immediately going to the previous night when she had purposely gotten him drunk in order to carry out her botched scheme. "Don't get me wrong, love. I admire a person who's willing to do whatever's necessary."

Their eyes met and held for the first time since she'd located him. Her noble chin went up firmly. "You're a smart man, Jack," she said as he chewed his fish quietly, "but I don't entirely trust you." Something in his stare altered and he stood, ambled to her side and stooped down, until his face was inches from hers. Her pulse quickened and she felt drawn into the fathomless obsidian depths of his eyes.

"Peas in a pod, darlin'," Jack whispered, gesturing at the two of them with his finger. He remained half-bent above her, and noticed the parting of her lips and the change in her breathing until an impudent leer snuck onto his face. He backed away feeling satisfied with the reaction he'd received from her and went to his side of the fire once again, bit off a chunk of fish from his twig and stretched his body out with a self-assured languor, then folded a hand under his head.

Elizabeth felt the burn of excitement turn into anger. How dare he…he…make her feel like she did! He knew exactly how to make her blood simmer, how to generate such a reaction; it was only natural that she'd swoon as he knelt so close to her face that she could see the very lashes which bordered his eyes and could feel his hot breath on her flesh. She seethed at the foreign, yet atrocious need that had pooled into her middle.

She was very well aware of his way with women. The books she'd pored over as a girl boasted of the myriad of mistresses that he left at many a harbor. It also suggested the rumor of his having a gaggle of wives, up and down the seaboard of the American Colonies, some in the West Indies and even as far as Africa.

Elizabeth scoffed at the notion, which caused the man to turn his head.

"What was tha', love?" he murmured, eyelids drooped to slits in near slumber. She considered remaining silent in order to avoid any further awkward conversation, but curiosity got the better of her.

"In the stories, it's gossiped that you have thirteen wives and more mistresses than stars in the heavens."

A raspy, condescending laugh. "You believe everything you read in those stories of yours, Miss Swann?"

"It isn't true?"

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't."

She shot him an agitated look. "If your island escape was a fabrication, I suppose said rumor is as well." Furthering the continued disappointment, she supposed it was inevitable that her fantasy of a pirate's carefree life with no bounds, no rules, no constraints should be ruined completely.

"Oh, there be a few wenches awaiting their Captain's return." He waved his hand around absent-mindedly. "But truth be told, this man has never made a sacred vow, 'cept to his one and only true love, the _Black Pearl._"

Elizabeth's snort was quite unladylike. She should have seen that answer coming.

"'Sides, Miss, 't'ain't a grand idea bringing aboard a married fellow, leaving behind his wife and child."

Her mind immediately went to Will. He'd talked often of his mother and her courage and strength. He admired her zealous effort to live even in the absence of Will Sr., despite the ferociously poverty-stricken house they'd inhabited and the tiny rations of food. He never really talked about his father, except that he had become a merchant sailor to provide for his wife and child, when his visits home were too far and too long in between. It was common for a sailor to spend long durations at sea, so this was what Will had assumed as a boy when he hadn't bothered to contact them, even after years of silence. Elizabeth felt a sadness for him as she remembered his father had turned to piracy and rampaged the Spanish Main with the likes of Barbossa and Jack Sparrow instead of returning home where he belonged.

No wonder Will hated the very thought of his father as a pirate.

"Why did Will Turner, Sr. sail on the _Black Pearl_ if it was such a bad thing to have a married man on board?"

"He was a fine carpenter and a good man. Difficult to find in these days of ignorance and depravity." Jack's voice had dipped into a low tone, almost as if consumed with remorse.

"A pirate _and _a good man? Could there be such a thing?"

"Yes, Miss Swann. He was an honorable scalawag. Not sure if that makes any sort of sense, but 'tis true." Jack paused, hesitantly. "When I went on board ship as a boy, he took me in, taught me the ropes. Everything I know 'bout sailing."

She hummed softly. "He must have meant a great deal to you. You speak of him fondly."

The pirate was still for a moment, pondering with his stare downcast. "I suppose you may presume he had played a fatherly role in my early merchant days."

Her eyebrows darted upward. _Oh, how Will would react to such words!_ "A fatherly role? When his son back in England desperately needed said fatherly role?"

Jack blew an annoyed sigh. "Well, Miss Swann, you've managed to exhaust me with your incessant babbling about marriage and the paternal influence of men and their eunuch progenies. So, if you'll excuse me, I'd like very much to fall into a peaceful sleep."

Elizabeth set her mouth in a firm line, watching the man settle into the sand in complete carelessness, then turned her eyes to the ocean. The tide was coming in so that the waves rolled much heavier than in the day, and left a line of white foam on the shore; it was hypnotizing, almost seductive in its tumbling gesture. The water glistened under the increasingly silver reflection of the full moon, casting a thousand sparkles across the surface.

She stared for a long time, in a trance, lulled by the crashing sounds and continuous motions, letting her thoughts stray to Will and the crew of the _Black Pearl_. What was he doing or thinking at that very moment? Would she ever see him again? Was she so destined to die apart from Will and never live to know what it was like to hold him in her arms and whisper words of love to the man in which her heart truly desired? Was he going to die with a knife at his throat? Was Jack Sparrow to be the last person she'd ever lay eyes on?

Tears spilled from her eyes when she realized that more than likely sweet William Turner would perish at the hand of Barbossa.

Elizabeth fought the terrible ache of despair rising in her chest and finally let sleep take her as she lay back turning from the slowly dying fire.

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Post A/N: I appreciate comments/favs/follows! Whatever comes my way. :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I tend to get pretty detailed, so if your attention span can't handle it, I understand. This may have to do with my OCD on being as close to accurate as possible, and obsessively reading old sailing stories for super detailed info on ship handling (ie: Two Years Before the Mast).

I appreciate all comments or responses regardless of what they are!

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Will Turner's thoughts lingered on Elizabeth from the instant she had disappeared with the pirate captain, to the moment he was currently in; thoughts straying too long; however, in his current condition he simply no longer cared how society felt about being a good proper lad who respected and admired the noble lady from afar, as he had before. Before all of this. Before Jack Sparrow, before the cursed pirates. When his world made sense, even if he must accept his lowly position and that he would very likely have to watch the woman of his dreams marry a man of high and noble ranking instead of he.

As he sat on the clapboard floor in the _Black Pearl_'s brig, he remembered the expression on her face the moment before she'd fallen into the unforgiving ocean. Her eyes were wide with terror as she glanced over her shoulder at him. He would never forget the shriek she let out as her body toppled off of the plank and the splash that followed afterward. He could only hope to God that she knew how to swim and wouldn't drown or fall susceptible to the mélange of creatures within the deep. Dangerous fish and wildlife aside, Elizabeth very well may be a strong swimmer and still find herself sinking into Davy Jones' Locker if she succumbed to fatigue and could not go on any longer. And if she made it to the island, he prayed even harder that Jack would harbor enough restraint, seeing as he was an honest pirate and all, and leave the girl unsullied.

He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to imagine Jack Sparrow's filthy hands on Elizabeth's flimsy little shift. Why did Barbossa have to practically strip her to her undergarments and maroon her with none other than a womanizing pirate like Jack?

Will had read the infamous stories of the wild, raucous adventures featuring Captain Jack Sparrow, including his exploits with women. It wasn't that he thought Elizabeth would submit to Jack's whim, as she was certainly no shrinking violet, but the two were condemned to the speck of land_ alone_, where law had no way of intervening had the man decided to violate her. Will hadn't had time to know the man well enough to trust him entirely. He felt an irrational spark of jealousy at the veracity of the situation. _Why not me? Why wasn't it I who was stranded on the isle with Miss Swann?_

He knew why – it was because of his father, the link he had in blood to _Bootstrap _Bill. The only reason he was not on that spit of land, or dead – _yet – _was simply because of the man he had only known as a small boy. Who had abandoned his family for the miscreants he was now entangled with.

"What's troublin' you, Will Turner?" came Joshamee Gibbs' gruff voice. The younger man peered over to the cell directly across from his where Jack's crew stood in their cramped quarters, crowded together. Gibbs let his elbows rest on the flatiron bars.

"Jack wouldn't…commit any transgressions upon an innocent girl, would he?" Will asked tentatively, scraping his fingers over his scalp to push the spindly mess of hair into some sort of order.

Gibbs visibly tensed, glaring with barely contained anger. Will thought his question had merit, but he realized he'd insulted the _Black Pearl_'s crew by speaking ill of their captain. Despite their insistence to practice strict adherence to the pirate code —truly, a contradiction in terms— the allegiance they had to the man indicated otherwise. "Captain would never do such a thing to Miss Elizabeth, nor to any other woman. He detests a man who ravishes a woman, harlot or no. Even killed a few who done it, as it were. Or is it that you've forgotten, lad, that he's a good man?"

"My apologies. But need I remind you that he _is_ a pirate and she _is_ a beautiful lady?"

Anamaria snarled next to Joshamee. "Did ye not hear Mr. Gibbs? Jack is no assaulter of women!"

"No offense to any of you," Will muttered, gaze wandering over the small group of misfits that made up Jack's disheveled crew. "I have only known the man for a short amount of time. I have no way of knowing his true intent, since he seems to do only what is beneficial for himself, in spite of the consequences."

Gibbs held his hand up when Anamaria once again allowed her features to become enveloped in rage. It appeared that the young woman never had any middling reaction to anything. It was either explosive temper or disquieting impassiveness. "Fall back, love."

"Ya keep your endearments to yourself, ya filthy sod. And you mind your tongue, Turner. One more word questioning Captain Jack's honor and I'll cut the blasted thing clean from your mutinous mouth!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes while Cotton squirmed uncomfortably and Will frowned, glancing at his hands to break the intense stare down between him and the fierce piratess. "Pay no attention to Anamaria. She cannot control her rage, especially when it has to do with a certain daft pirate captain that explored her affections and then stole her boat while she was sleeping like the dead."

Will felt relieved, albeit nervous, of their unwavering loyalty. He was pleased that they insisted on his integrity, but felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding if he continued to pursue the conversation. He knew just as he could only deem the troupe 'acquaintances' at that particular point in their quest, they also did not know or trust him either. The concept of them turning against him if he kept going any further did not bode well for his physical safety. "Again, I'm sorry. I agree, Jack does not strike me as the kind of man to defile a lady."

"Precisely," Gibbs muttered.

Will studied the crew for a few silent moments, and then scrambled to his feet when the door to the brig creaked open, where the two bumbling pirates Pintel and Ragetti sauntered in, carrying a rather aged bucket and a mop that had certainly seen better days. The shorter man plunged the cloth end into the grimy water, obviously not eager to be cleaning the jail room. Pintel, clearly the most aggressive of the pair, held a permanent snarl on his face as he conducted his monotonous task of moving the cleaning utensil haphazardly, every now and then peering up at the young man and narrowing his eyes in suspicion, as if in serious thought. Ragetti, who had been put to the task of scrubbing down the floor with a holystone, would break the other man of his reverie with his busywork, and just like that Pintel would be back to his task.

As Cotton's parrot, perched on the mute man's shoulder, squawked out a random remark, Gibbs smirked mirthlessly. There probably was never any true meaning to the bird's sayings, but he was superstitious enough to avoid questioning the parrot's validity and often acted as interpreter to those less informed.

"Mr. Cotton here says you missed a bit." Pintel slammed the dripping mop onto the cell bars, and the inhabitants jumped back in response. Will forced back a grin, and then remembered his father's association with these vile infidels and leaned against the iron slats.

"You knew William Turner?" he queried, steeling himself from whatever potentially negative words they'd have to say about the only man he ever looked at as a father figure besides the poor old Mr. Brown back at the blacksmith shop.

Pintel glanced up from his work. "Oh, Bootstrap Bill. We knew him." The pirate's lip pulled back in a sneer, not unlike the piercing, aggressive demeanor of an angry dog, and he bared rotting teeth. "Never sat well with Bootstrap, what we did to Jack Sparrow, the mutiny and all. He said it wasn't right with the Code. That's why he sent off a piece of the treasure to you, as it were. He said we deserved to be cursed…and remain cursed."

"Stupid blighter," Ragetti spat, listening intently to his friend just a hairbreadth away, leaning in attentively.

Gibbs answered swiftly, "Good man." Will's head perked a bit in surprise. He had yet to know that the elder Turner had known anyone other than Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, and the undead crew. Apparently Joshamee Gibbs had as well, had even known him well enough to be confident in Bootstrap's integrity as a good man.

"But as you can imagine, that didn't sit too well with the captain," Pintel continued, ignoring Gibbs remark and choosing to proceed, fully appreciating the chance to tell the tale of Bootstrap's demise.

Ragetti chuckled. "That didn't sit too well with the captain at all. Tell 'em what Barbossa did."

Pintel exploded, and the slighter man recoiled like a whipped puppy. "I'm telling the story!" he growled, then turned back to face Will, his voice low. "So, what the captain did; he strapped a cannon to Bootstrap's bootstraps—" Ragetti giggled as he repeated the last two words. "—and last we saw of ol' Bill Turner he was sinking to the crushing, black oblivion of Davy Jones' Locker."

Will felt his spirits dwindle at the horrid realization of his father's fate. Death by mutiny, and by a gruesome drowning.

Pintel grew thoughtful. "'Course, it was only after that we learned we needed his blood to lift the curse."

"Now that's what you call ironic," Ragetti added and the two snickered. The occupants of the room were then startled by Barbossa's presence, who stood at the door with the rest of the crew behind him.

Tossing the keys to the iron cages he shouted, "Bring 'im!"

Ragetti caught them and set about unlocking the cell. Will didn't put up a fight as he was yanked from the brig; he knew there would be no point in doing so—the possibility of an escape was nil, and he was severely outnumbered.

The dread he felt started as a cold grip in his middle and it began trickling upward until he felt as though it threatened to clamp his throat shut. He was soon going to discover the feel of a knife slicing through his neck, would feel the blood drain from his body, would watch the men return to their mortality in triumph as he lay dying over a pile of cursed gold. It was doubtful that Jack and Elizabeth could come to his rescue, unlikely that they'd survive themselves.

He was almost frantic enough to run himself through with a sword, to kill himself or be killed to thwart their plans. But Barbossa could sense Will's desperation and as soon as he was on the topside deck, he was placed in shackles, effectively putting an end to the idea of spoiling their plans.

"Any sign of the _Black Pearl_ or the _Interceptor_?" Governor Swann said as Commodore Norrington opened the door to his quarters aboard the _Dauntless_. The man removed his tricorn hat and sighed wearily.

"No, I'm afraid not, Governor." He moved languidly into the room and took a seat at the table across from the nobly-dressed Weatherby Swann, ever the man of court—even aboard a ship, and he asked his dutiful cabin boy for a cup of tea, then regarded the governor sympathetically. "We'll not give up, mind you. I refuse to cease our search until your daughter is back in Port Royal and safe."

"Thank you, Commodore," the older man said, smiling gratefully. He was nervous about the outcome of his daughter's return since the two men knew what kind of horrors the pirates had most likely bestowed upon Elizabeth, but he attempted to think otherwise. His daughter may be viewed as a ruined woman by the small number of courtiers that inhabited Hispaniola, but he knew it was important to retrieve Elizabeth before proceeding with the restoration of her reputation. The governor cleared his throat. "Which direction is the vessel headed at the moment?"

"Northeast 5 East, now that she's quit of Windward Passage," James replied and the other man merely nodded as he ambled on about nautical distances and positional longitude and latitude. The cabin boy who had the responsibility of refreshments appeared and placed a pair of cups and saucers before his superiors.

"Thank you, Mr. Thomas." Not long after a silent draught of their tea and the cabin boy quietly waiting for his next command, the three heard a familiar call, _'Land ho!'_ and they rushed to the top deck to see the shore they were approaching.

James was handed a telescope from an unseen sailor and he peered into it, then felt a glimmer of hope as he spied a ship with tattered black sails moored within the dark, looming volcanic peaks of an unknown island. He knew instantly that this was the _Black Pearl._ "Heave to windward and drop anchor!" he barked to his crew. "Prepare to launch the longboats!"

The men shouted their affirmation and Lieutenant Gillette approached the Commodore while hurriedly making himself presentable, as he had likely been in the forecastle sleeping. The dog watch had ended for which he had been placed in charge by Norrington as the Commodore decided on a strategy of rescue and/or attack with the Governor—'eight bells and all was well' until the call for hands to prepare for landing came. "What's your plan of action, sir?"

James grinned. "We're going to commandeer the _Black Pearl_, and save ourselves a governor's daughter."


	3. Chapter 3

The dark, towering ship was anchored near a cove, wrapped in a peculiar fog as the Commodore and three longboats of soldiers approached the _Black Pearl._ Norrington noticed that the pirate ship was ominously quiet…too quiet for his nerves to be at ease. Something was amiss; he could feel the apprehension close in on his senses like a cloak, nearly choking his effort to remain calm. He straightened his shoulders when at last the boat came to rest gently against the flank of the _Pearl_, and he began climbing up the rungs of wooden planks bolted into the side, his men following in dead silence.

Upon scaling to the deck, right at mid-ship on the outside of the _Pearl_, Norrington caught the distinct sound of voices coming from a nearby gunport, then made a hushing motion with his finger toward the soldiers and jerked it at the opening to the right of him.

James' hands grasped the rail as he hauled his body over onto the top deck and lightly set his boot-clad feet on the planked floor. He turned, helped his soldiers over and soon, the troop made their silent prowl to seek and destroy any pirates and to find Elizabeth Swann.

_Screeech!_

His heart made a terrified lurch to his throat at the sound of a dreadful shriek, and then leapt back in horror at the sight of some sort of creature which appeared to be nothing more than a little skeleton with clumps of black and white fur barely concealing its bones. The gruesome figure scurried across the surface and huddled into the shadows, where it suddenly transformed into a harmless tree monkey. James was horribly fascinated by the implausibility of such a bizarre experience, as he likened himself to a man who did not cater to fantasy as many of his sailors did—he desired something that was concrete and irrefutable—the part of his brain that reasoned tried to coax him into thinking he'd seen something other than what it appeared. Trick of the light. He gained back his courage, smacked the little devil in mid-jump with his pistol and sent it over the side.

The Commodore winced at the loud thump that the monkey made as its body landed on a metal surface. It must have fallen onto one of the protruding cannons. He vigorously flung his arms about, gesturing for his men to run down into the below decks and was briefly reminded of Jack Sparrow and all of his peculiar, exaggerated mannerisms. They all paused when the sound of heavy, careless footsteps bounded up the staircase from what must have been the gunnery.

Just as the moon slid behind a cloud and immersed them in near pitch-black darkness, James had his gun at the ready and aimed directly at the larger pirate of the pair who emerged and made a slight smirk of glee at the man's misfortune. But to his astonishment, the psychotic gleam in the pirate's eyes merely doubled and he snatched the flume of the firearm with his meaty hand. James pulled the trigger, the bullet striking the man square in the throat, and closed his eyes at the feel of blood splattering his face. Yet when he looked again, the pirate was grinning savagely despite the fact that his neck was quite literally ripped open.

"Sorry, chap, ain't gonna work!" he growled, little flecks of the crimson liquid spraying from his lips. Before long, the wound in his neck closed over at an unworldly speed until it no longer existed, all that was left in its wake was smooth flesh, and James' previous sense of impending doom recommenced in full force. Just as the monkey had been impossibly skittering around with no skin visible, the man before him had taken a musket shot without blinking and was not even remotely felled by the usually fatal attack.

Yet, despite his own terror and no doubt his soldiers' as well, he and his men made a battle cry, and hurtled themselves toward the two pirates in attack. They had no chance to recover from the shock of such a response. Together, the Royal Navy managed to hoist the undead pirates into the air and offer them the same fate that the ghastly little monkey had endured.

* * *

Gibbs had his stout body pressed against the cell when he recognized the sound of a large quantity of boot-clad feet tromping down the steps to the brig. "Someone's coming!" he barked, and was thoroughly taken-aback by the sight of the James Norrington, a Lieutenant when he'd sailed with him nigh but a decade ago—now a Commodore, no less—and a sea of redcoats who swarmed in around him. "It's the Royal Navy!" The pirate crew stood as helpless as infants in the jail cell, looking on as one of the soldiers handed Norrington the keys from their spot dangling from a nail in the wall. Gibbs felt a sinking numbness when he realized the preordained meeting in the gallows that he'd been given upon his leave of His Majesty's Navy and his introduction to the pirate's would come sooner than he thought. He'd expected a better outcome than sitting in a brig while Turner had his throat slit, perhaps Captain Jack returning unfathomably, as always, managing some clever escape from certain death or imprisonment. Maybe even Will after breaking loose of the pirate's stronghold. But the _Commodore?_

"Mr. Gibbs," James said, puzzled. "What may I ask are you doing in a pirate's keep?"

Joshamee kept his gaze steady on the younger man. "I think ye'll be knowin' what I'm doing here."

The Commodore pieced it together himself. "You are in affiliation with Sparrow and Turner?" The crew's silence was all the answer he needed. "Very well." He turned to Lieutenant Groves. "Lieutenant, take these men to the boats and row them back to the _Dauntless. _I'm placing you in charge until my return." Norrington swiveled back to the old seaman. "Gibbs stays with us."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

The pirates paddled their oars in succession and the group drifted slowly down a murky passageway inside the familiar cave of Isla de Muerta, using their torches as a guide through the inky darkness and onward to the pirate's ridiculous hoard of riches, jewels, fine clothing, and of course the cursed gold. The island was one Will had hoped to never see again. The rowboats rocked viciously and Will found it difficult to concentrate. His stomach seemed to list every time the water did and he stared in wonder at Barbossa's menacing figure perched at the bow of the boat. The man was impenetrable; nothing deterred him.

As if the Captain sensed the boy's thoughts were upon him, he turned his head and glared at Will, and under the thin ray of moonlight shining from a hole in the rock overhead, a skull's repulsive grin was in its place. In fact, none of the pirates wore evidence of any flesh under the same beam of light. He'd known the men were cursed, dancing in limbo between life and death, but actually seeing them as walking skeletons was another matter.

Will's belly made another lurch.

"Still wet behind the ears, boy? Even the pretty little poppet kept her supper down," chuckled Pintel with a whimpering giggle from his mate Ragetti.

Will's nauseated grimace changed into a frown at the mention of Elizabeth. What would become of them? This wasn't the way it was supposed to end; what with the girl stranded on a deserted isle with another man and the hero on his way to have his throat slit—he stared up at the blackness above him, cursing Fate. She had dealt him and Elizabeth the wrong hand, and he insisted that their last moments mustn't end this way.

Since the day he'd laid eyes on her he'd fancied her. He had always daydreamed of her as the damsel in distress and he, the lowly apprentice, came to her rescue, won the favor of the governor and ended up marrying her and living happily ever after. If only those were the circumstances—of course, he was a rational young man despite his actions during and after the pirate attack. He knew that clouding his head with illusions was unwise and destined for disappointment.

His thoughts broke off as the boats came to a stop at the embankment in the dusky cave. Pintel and Ragetti snatched his arms and hauled him up and out of the skiff, then dragged him through to the enormous mounds of treasure.

"No reason to fret," the portly man spouted jovially. "Just a prick of the finger, few drops of blood."

Twigg sneered from behind Will's shoulder. "No mistakes this time, he's only half Turner. We spill it all!"

"Guess there is reason to fret," Pintel muttered and the two friends sniggered.

* * *

After effectively taking control of the _Black Pearl, _Norrington, Gibbs, and his seamen were directed to the inward rocky peaks of Isla de Muerta, creeping into the enclosed labyrinth of water-carved hollow corridors which led to the scene before them and the convenient location that Jack and Will had assumed not very long ago. The Commodore and the company who followed him were observing quietly at the secluded look-out spot, avoiding being discovered by the chanting pirates, as their attention had been taken by the man conducting a rousing speech. Their chief commander stood on a rock pulpit, a large extravagant chest before his feet, and an unfortunate soul with hands bound behind his back. A familiar young man with a tight, somber face. At the sight of Will Turner instead of Elizabeth, James turned to Joshamee Gibbs. He had assumed to find the governor's daughter—expected for the girl to be the object of their filthy wiles, perhaps a victim of ransom as a result of her father's notoriety. "Mister Gibbs, where is Miss Swann?"

"Marooned."

"What was that?" James gasped.

The stout man's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "Barbossa deserted her on an island and left her to die with Captain Sparrow. That was nigh three days ago."

The younger man's eyes widened to saucers. _No_, he thought, anguished. _Not Jack Sparrow_! A number of horrid images assaulted his mind, and Norrington recalled the moment of anxiety and fury when the stinking pirate not only stripped her of her dress and corset, but also seized her in his filthy embrace while holding a pistol to her fair head. "She's been alone with that man for three days?"

Joshamee nodded, deciphering the young Commodore's disgust and horror with his own antipathy. "I know what yer thinkin', son. But he has an honest streak in him and wouldn't lay a finger on the lass if she wasn't desirin' him to." Norrington had no choice but to trust his word and Gibbs knew that.

James straightened the broad brim of his naval hat and took a calming breath. He could do nothing more than continue forward with the task that presented itself before him. He'd have to resume his search for Elizabeth once he found a way to save the young blacksmith. Despite his disdain for the boy's unlawful behavior, he understood it, would have probably done the same—and he had an obligation as King James' protector, to serve his countrymen, even those that he didn't very much care for. "So you said that these men need Mr. Turner's blood to lift this curse in order for them to return to mortality?"

Gibbs nodded. He'd been put to the task of recalling the undead crew's tale to the men as they paddled their longboats toward the caves. "Aye, and Captain Barbossa ain't a man to strike bargains with no one, so there can't be much hope to be held out for Will. The boy's bloodline to Bootstrap Bill Turner is what they want, and nothing ye can give them will suffice as an alternative, 'fraid t'say."

Lieutenant Gillette was on the other side of Gibbs, showing his bafflement. "And just how are we supposed to defeat a band of pirates who cannot be killed?"

Gibbs grinned, mostly to himself. "We wait for the opportune moment."

* * *

A/N: I appreciate any reviews or comments!


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